the dating show
There’s an abundance of those shows on TV,
The ones where strangers meet in circumstances
Different to the normal ones that hold the world in place.
One day, I applied for one. The type with food,
Cooking to be precise.
I made it on.
He cooked for me in his London flat, with camera crew
Packed into the space. Hardly romantic,
And I found myself perspiring, needing a drink.
I downed a gin and tonic, before he served a starter.
Soup, velvety and smooth,
Then chicken with a white wine sauce
And chocolate sundae for dessert.
He didn’t pick me as his favourite,
He went for Becky, a gorgeous blonde who laughed
At all his jokes and touched his leg, underneath the table.
I shouldn’t care, but I do,
Rejected on TV, an audience there
To watch my red faced shame. I’ll never go again,
On a dating show.